Quantum Leap: Restoration
by EmmyAngel
Summary: How can Sam Leap home if he never really left? An . . . EXTENDED ending to Mirror Image.
1. Prologue: Happy Endings

_A/N: Well, here we are. While I've been reading for about five years now, I'm a new kid on the block writing-wise, so I'd appericiate any input (Trade secrets, etc.) I can get. _

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it ain't mine - whichshould beeveything here.

_**Quantum Leap: Restoration**_

_Prologue: "Let's start with the happy ending."_

**April 3, 1969**

_" . . . Al's alive . . . and he's coming home." A beautific smile broke across Beth's face, joy and thanks shining in her eyes. Fighting off his own tears, Dr. Sam Beckett looked away from the woman before him, only to see a picture – a much younger version – of an old friend he would probably never have, now._

_He felt a tingle of static run down his neck, and knew – instinct or habit? – that he was about to Leap. He half-thought that he should get up, at least try to get out of Beth's line of sight before he dissolved into the blue, but he couldn't tear his gaze away. As he felt the tingle strengthen and spread throughout his body, Sam watched electric blue light envelope the image. "G'bye, Al," he whispered through a tight throat._

_A tear escaped and fell as Dr. Sam Beckett vanished into thin air with a flash of blue-white light._



For the first time in his memory, Sam was cognizant of the Leap between lives. Instead of a flash of blue taking him from one world into another, he floated in it, his mind a peaceful blank. A vague grief clung to him, and he wished he could go home . . . then wondered, in this body-less mind, if he had a home to go to. The ripple effect that Al-the-Bartender had spoken of had probably nixed any interest in Quantum Leap, assuming the new-made Sam Beckett had still thought it up and not used it to create a comic book, or something.

His peace gone and distress burrowing in that line of thought, Sam sighed and made a silent demand, _I wanna go home_.

A new prickling told him his Leap was about to end, and he prepared himself to be disoriented and lost in whatever would be thrown at him. The prickling sharpened, but the light didn't lessen, and Sam didn't get any sense of gravity pulling him into his new position. The prickling became stabs, perforating and splitting him into pieces. Instinct had him fight it, and the pain intensified.

His soul screamed.

_A/N: I'm already stuck on Chapter Three, so I'm gonna be slow on posting new stuff - one a week if I can manage it. Anyone interested in playing Beta?_


	2. Chapter 1: Pandemonium

_A/N: I think I've got Sam 'n Al pretty well nailed, but everyone else is basically me talking to myself._

_Disclaimer: Unless the DVDs come with stock, I don't own 'em._

_**Chapter 1: Pandemonium**_

**April 29, 1995**

_"Talk to me, Goushie!"_ Al yelled the second he ran into the blinding Control Center, Beth and the girl they'd picked up close behind him.

"No change," Goushie said, "He's been in there for over seven minutes."

Al raised a hand over his squinting eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his friend. "Ziggy, can you – "

"He would have a better chance if someone pulled him out, Admiral." Ziggy countered before he could finish.

Sam would kill him if he came out a veggie.

"Sam?" All heads turned at the new voice, and horror swept through them. _"Sam!"_ Donna cried, running to the Acceleration Chamber's door. Al barely managed to catch her in time. She fought him, screaming her husband's name as he uselessly argued why they couldn't charge in there.

A scream tore through the Acceleration Chamber, and Al's arms froze into a vice as old nightmares ripped through him. He thought he'd left that sound in Vietnam.

The scream ended and a figure collapsed out of the column of light. Al yelled, "Shut it down!" a second before Donna broke out of his grip and ran into the Chamber, and he followed her in.



Sam managed to catch himself before landing on his face. He dry-heaved a couple of times, then collapsed fully, resting against something cool. The world was spinning, his ears full of roaring static, and his eyes might as well have been water for how well he could see. Not that he wanted to. He didn't care where or when he was as long as he could get a moment to rest.

It didn't last long enough. The roar lessened a bit just before something grabbed him. He groaned as it rolled him on his back. He opened his eyes to see . . . a blob. Wearing red. And white over it.

Movement caught his eye. Another blob. Wearing a little white. Mostly black. He could hear some kind of gibberish over the fading static in his ears. _Great_, he thought, _I'm brain-fried among aliens_. He would have laughed if he had the energy. Another blob with curly red hair leaned over his head and put something cold on his chest.

Uninterested, he released the air in his lungs and let his eyes close again.



"I'll kill you if you die on me, Sam Beckett," Donna half-snarled as she ripped his suit open.

"Not before I beat you," Al supplied as he checked his friend's pulse.

"Can I have his brain when you are finished?"

"_Shut up, Ziggy!"_ someone roared. Several someones. Terry shushed at them. Sam sighed as his eyes rolled closed.

"_Sam – "_

"He's okay, Donna," Terry said, pulling her stethoscope away from his chest, "Just fainted, I think." A gurney came crashing in and they hauled him on it. Al pulled Donna back so Beth, Terry, and SammiJo could stick monitors and needles and tug an O2 mask down his face. But when Terry went to the foot of the gurney and said, "Move out," they were right back to either side of him, supposedly to help push.

No one argued.



Sam woke when he felt something pull away from his face, but he didn't open his eyes. Too tired. Instead he wandered what was up with the super-slow strobe light. Then he heard voices. Female voices. Speaking a language he knew he knew, but couldn't quite understand, yet. He forced his eyes open, and discovered the strobe light was actually ceiling lights. Spaced a little too far apart. He also saw that the blobs had developed human shapes, but he was still too bleary to make out any features. A dark-haired woman in a tan coat walked on the right side of his head, the black-and-white blob turn man-in-a-tux striding behind her. On his left were a dark-blond and a brunette in a red shirt he vaguely felt like he should know. He was wondering where the red-head was – God, this was starting to sound like some Al-inspired fantasy – when a voice near his feet said something, a hand grabbed his shoulder, and a familiar voice said, "Hang on, buddy. You're gonna be okay," and the face in the tux came in focus.

"Al?" he asked rawly, joy and confusion running through his exhausted mind. Al let go of his shoulder and stopped beside the brunette in red while Sam kept going. Something banged against the top of his gurney – it had to be a gurney – and he panicked "Al - !" which started him coughing. He saw the redhead at his feet and two white, swinging doors. A hand pressed him back down as he continued hacking. A new voice murmured something soothing – "No one's gonna sleep tonight, thanks to you."- as the hand pulled the breathing mask back over his face. Sam fell into unconsciousness, strangely relieved.

_He hadn't failed._

_Whatchya think? Have I lost y'all?_


	3. Waiting Game

_Chapter 2: Waiting Game_

Donna turned into his shoulder the minute Sam disappeared behind the med ward doors. For a bizarre moment, Al was almost jealous of his friend for getting a blond, brunette, and redhead while he got stuck with a weeper. _You lucky dog_. The thought vanished before he could grasp it.

He managed to calm Donna enough for her to sit down, then he began to pace, his mind in a whirl. _What the hell_ had made Sam do something so stupid? When he said this afternoon that it wasn't ready, _it wasn't ready_. And Sam was the last person on this Project – on this _planet_ – that would pull an April Fool's joke, let alone a stunt like this.

Sam made the rules, _Al_ broke them. That's the way things were, so _what the hell_ _was he thinking?_

Al was an hour into this circular thinking, wearing a path into the floor, when the sickening answer clicked in his mind. So livid he could barely speak, Al slapped in an order for a list of all calls and visits since an hour before he and Beth left the Facility. If _any_ of those jerks on the Committee had tried to put the thumbscrews on Sam, he would personally go and deck every last one of the bastards.

For all his brains, Sam was still an innocent. Honest. If you told him his baby was going to lose its funding, Sam would believe you unless he had proof otherwise. And Al knew, with a gut-wrenching certainty that didn't need fact, that Sam had nearly killed himself to get that proof.

Al forced himself to stop, take a deep breath, and release his anger. _This is not the time to throw a temper tantrum._ He rolled his neck, trying to ease his tense muscles. Sighing, he sat down, propped his elbows on his knees, and tried to calm his racing thoughts.

"He's gonna be okay, right?" Al nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. Donna stared at him hopefully, "Sam's gonna be okay?"

He actually teared up a little when he recognized her, and peace enveloped him as he grabbed her hand, squeezing it. "He's gonna be okay." Her eyes filled again as she squeezed back.

From that point on, time began to stretch. One minute took twenty; ten took a lifetime. Al thanked God there wasn't a clock in the room, ticking them to madness, then three seconds later he wished for a damn clock to watch. Nervous energy pushed him to pace, only to sit again after a few turns, deriding himself for worrying when he knew Sam – or, at least, the one they _saw_ as Sam – would be alright. _What the hell was that supposed to mean?_

After about forty-five minutes of silence – and his third round of pacing – Al gave up. He left the waiting room and went back to Control to see what Goushie and Ziggy had compiled from the experiment.

He stopped short just inside, feeling a little sick. Who was the brunette flirting with Goushie, and how'd she get insi – _Oh, boy_.

Tina rolled out from under Ziggy and glared Goushie into behaving again, then saw Al in the doorway, and brightened. "Hey! How's Sam doing?"

"He's still in the O.R.," Al said.

Everything froze for a moment as Tina and Goushie exchanged worried glances. Even they knew two hours were too long for a basic check up. Something was wrong.

"He'll be okay," Al growled, glaring at them.

"Statistically, Admiral, - "

"Sam's always beaten the odds, Ziggy," he said, now glaring at the computer, "You know that."

After another awkward moment, Al asked Ziggy to print out two copies of whatever they'd gotten from the run, and left. He wasn't in a talking mood, anyway.

Al snagged a couple cups of coffee on his way back to the waiting room. He didn't really expect to understand anything in the reports, but it'd at least give them something to stare at while waiting for news.

He was taking a deep breath, fighting off another wave of nausea, when he realized Donna wasn't the only one in the room. "Isn't it a little early for grief counseling?" he asked, and nearly bit off his tongue.

Verbeena Beeks just gave him a cold stare, then whispered a last bit of encouragement in Donna's ear and left.

Not knowing what else to do, Al offered Donna a cup of coffee and a report in silent apology. She accepted, and he sat back down.

Two more hours passed . . . The forgotten coffee went cold . . . Four . . . Occasionally a page would flip when one or the other developed enough momentum. Finally, somewhere near dawn, Beth and Terry walked out.

Beth immediately went into his arms, and they held tight while Terry did the usual doctor's wind-down of pulling off the mask and shaking her hair loose from its net.

"Sorry it took so long," she finally said, scratching her scalp, "I wanted to run some tests; try to get some answers before coming out here."

"How's Sam?" Donna asked.

"Chock fulla drugs, right now. He'll sleep 'til late afternoon, at least." Terry rubbed at her tired eyes. "Figured I oughta let his body get some rest before he wakes up 'n starts tearing though the place again."

Beth murmured something about going to bed, kissed his cheek, and left the room as Donna asked the second biggest question.

"Can I see him?" Terry nodded her consent, and Donna went through.

Al stood there a moment, not quite sure what to do, then decided he might as well inform every one else and turned to leave.

"Daddy-?"

Goosebumps gathered on his arms as Al turned back to his eldest daughter. She looked like a ten-year-old who'd gotten caught red-handed. _Oh, boy_.

Al stood in front of her and said the most inane thing he could think of: "Took an awfully long time for a few tests."

The dam broke and Terry fell into her father's arms. "It was horrible, Daddy. One minute his eyes'd be fluttering like he was waking up, next he'd be thrashing 'n screamin' bloody murder, next he'd flatline. It took four hours just to stabilize him, and even then we had to strap him down."

"Daddy," She looked up at him, a terrified grief in her eyes.

"I don't know if he'll wake up."



_Just as the sun broke free of the horizon, Ziggy began running her morning diagnostic. Three-quarters of the way through, a sub-system snagged something and she pulled it to the foreground. It was a file. Labeled _'Leaps,' _it contained both audio and word documents that only seemed to grow the longer she scanned them. Hesitantly, she opened the first one: _**Tom Stratton 8-12-56.**

5


End file.
